Chapter XXIV: Disposal unit

After spending an entire night scheming, clearing their thoughts, and working together on a feasible plan to move forward, Gino and Beatrix finally found some rest in each other's warmth.

The night's cold didn't bite at Gino's bones, and the pain in his hands faded into the background as his mind and senses were wrapped up in Beatrix's caresses, and her mere presence beside him.

Beatrix's nightmares finally stopped tormenting her sleep, and she was able to let go of her tension. For the first time, she felt the warmth and safety that Gino seemed to radiate, drawing her closer.

'Until I figure out when I can get out of here, I'll have to focus on getting close to everyone living and working alongside me.' Although it seemed tedious, Gino knew that the best course of action was to sway those enslaved by the Guild over to his side. Their minds were already fragile, so it wouldn't take much work, in his view.

'Once they see me as someone capable, someone with the means to back up what I say, they should start to doubt, and I'll be able to convince them to follow me.' Saying it was easier than doing it, though. Gino knew that, like him, most of those under the Guild's yoke were constantly living under threat.

To get them on his side, he'd first need to ensure that their loved ones—or their own lives—were no longer in danger. That, however, wasn't something he could make happen any time soon.

'So, my search narrows to those already bitter and ready to fight. Once I find them and show them they've got a chance with me, I can turn them to my advantage.' Ideally, Gino thought, he'd gain more skilled followers. The regulars at O'Shalle's Bar came to mind—they could provide pilots for his ships, people who knew how to fight and had at least some idea of how to handle a lasgun.

'Thinking about it's useless, though. All I have around me is what there is.' He sighed, glancing at the people nearby—those he hadn't spared a second thought for in recent days, people he hadn't considered in any of his plans. Rejects, nobodies. Weak people, in his earlier view, not worth the effort to bring over to his side. And yet, after his own mistakes and foolishness, they were now his best chance to survive and escape his fate.

Without any credits to secure the initial interest of his targets, and lacking the freedom to roam Vandalor at the moment, Gino now had to cling to the emotions and lives of broken and defeated individuals. 'I think I'm more like them than the others living in Vandalor.' He stared at his bionic implants, swallowing hard as the thought crossed his mind.

His 'hands' were a constant reminder of his mistake, of his foolishness in thinking he could know how to navigate such a world. The constant pain was a penance, a punishment for his failure to adapt, for not changing his mindset when he had the chance.

'I had the chance to avoid all this, and I blew it. Now I've just got to suck it up and push on with what little I've got in this lousy situation.' Bitterness and rage would fuel Gino, but he also knew he'd have to keep a close eye on those emotions, lest they trap him and lead to more mistakes.

What Gino needed most now was pragmatism and patience.

With that mentality set and his goals in mind, he launched into a new day. His eyes took in everything around him, rediscovering his surroundings and starting to notice what he'd once ignored.

The people around him.

He watched and remembered each individual. He analysed and considered every glance, every face, every expression and body language of those nearby. Perhaps his understanding wasn't the most detailed, but having been such a social person on Earth, it was a skill that proved useful in this situation. He could easily pick up on the signs of helplessness, anger, and frustration.

There was the worker sweeping and cleaning the floors in the corridors, who was shoved and struck by the guards for not moving fast enough or looking away when they passed.

Or the worker stacking metal into the furnace that melted it into moulds, enduring the agony of a malfunctioning bionic implant, his back and arms slowly breaking down from the relentless work with no rest in sight.

Or maybe, in the several workers who, along with Gino, witnessed a fellow worker executed with a shot to the head after collapsing at their assembly station—sick and exhausted. For the Guild, those who couldn't serve their purpose were worthless, and their diseased bodies could at least be turned into food for the others.

Gino, who until then had never seen someone die in front of him, tried to mask his own shock with a face devoid of emotion. Yet if anyone paid attention, they would have noticed his trembling steps, a clear sign that he was deeply affected by what he had just seen. Just like the other workers, who could only look on with a mix of fear and anger at the fate that awaited them should they outlive their usefulness. Their only value was being useful hands to the Guild—hands easily replaced and discarded. Something which Gino could prove with his own experience.

The constant voices of the vox speakers promised them peace if they fulfilled their tasks, but everything around them weighed heavily on their tormented minds, reminding them that even the slightest mistake carried a steep price. After all, with the sole exception of Gino, whose face bore no scars, the others carried the marks of physical punishment on their skin—entire inches burned, flayed, or replaced.

On the faces of men not yet fully grown, premature wrinkles carved themselves in the wake of constant fear, always dreading that something terrible might happen, their days filled with paranoia. In between their prayers and brief moments of contemplation, Gino saw his chance to break through the defensive walls they had built to shield themselves from any contact.

These were men yearning for something greater than themselves to save them from their cruel fate, or at the very least, to ease the dark shadows that haunted their minds with unspeakable whispers.

Gino watched carefully, waiting for the right moment, now that he had identified his first targets. As he sat before the holographic green image that lit up his face, forcing him to learn how to kill a person, he raised his voice. His roommate, who had shown signs of helplessness and anger, was seated next to him, enduring the same indoctrination.

"Don't you think it's a bit stupid teaching us how to kill when the first ones we want to off are those Guild bastards?" Gino spoke loud enough to cut through the sound right by their ears, knowing the other man must be hearing the same thing.

After a moment, Gino picked up on his companion's low grunt—perhaps in agreement, or perhaps just a reflex to the brainwashing.

"All I know is, if they think a few videos and noises will stop me from wanting to tear them apart, they've got it all wrong, eh?" With that final remark, Gino settled in, waiting for the 'lessons' to end.

'If I'm not mistaken, once I'm fully healed and they're done with this crap, they'll probably force me into even more dangerous work outside the Guild.' If the videos teaching him how to strangle someone or prepare improvised explosives were anything to go by, Gino hoped that the man sharing his room might become someone he could work with in the future, someone he could bring into his orbit.

After all, he still had an entire crate of weapons, ammunition, and supplies in his inventory, stashed away from the [Thunderhawk]. Weapons that would be useful in the prepared hands of people loyal to him.

When the indoctrination session ended, Gino noticed the man, dazed like him, watching as others began to head back to their rooms. Approaching him, Gino observed that the man didn't look older than forty, though he knew better than to assume anyone's age in this place. A scruffy beard covered the lower half of his face, and his blue eyes scrutinized Gino just as Gino was sizing him up.

The dark jumpsuit with the Guild's insignia covered the man's average build, which seemed small compared to Gino's broader frame. Despite his rough condition, Gino's shoulders still gave him a V-shaped appearance.

"I'm Gino, what's your name?" Gino asked, extending his bionic hand as they made their way out of the room.

The man glanced down at the implant but didn't return the gesture. In a low voice, he muttered, "If you don't want to get us into trouble, you'd better keep your mouth shut before they hear you."

He left Gino behind, who only managed a slight smirk before following him, murmuring just loud enough for him to hear, "I'm already in deep, but you're right. So, are you planning on introducing yourself?"

"...What does this guy want?..." The man shook his head as though weighing something, grunting under his breath while they walked through the hallway lined with countless rooms, heading back to their shared quarters.

Under the watchful eye of a guard dressed in dark clothing with a rusted rifle slung across his chest, they remained silent until they finally reached their room. As they entered, the man quietly muttered to Gino, "Corvin."

Hearing the man's name, Gino gave a small nod, a faint smile curling on his lips as he pretended to prepare for sleep like the others.

Glancing over at Corvin, who was two rows down from Gino in the fourth bed, their eyes met. Gino raised his hand, mimicking the gesture of a gun being fired.

When the lights went out and minutes passed, with everyone lying in their beds, Gino closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He attempted to ignore the itching around his implants and the now all-too-familiar pain they caused.

'I need to figure out when I can start doing jobs outside the Guild, so I can start earning credits,' Gino reminded himself, fully aware that he currently had no income, as everything he earned went directly to pay off his "debt."

'Heh, I bet even if I had the full amount to pay off the debt, those bastards would come up with some excuse about interest just to keep me enslaved.' With that thought in mind, Gino knew he had to start moving around Vandalor again, making more contacts. If he wanted to fully utilize the System, he urgently needed a constant flow of credits to keep people loyal to him.

'Luckily, Bea's probably doing her part as well. After all, she'll be important for what comes next.' Both of them were waiting for the moment they could start moving freely around Vandalor. And while they both would love to escape, surgical implants had been placed in them to track their positions at all times. Raising his hand to touch the back of his neck, where Beatrix said the device was, Gino thought to himself, 'I doubt they'd waste resources just to put in a simple tracker. Who knows what else they can do with this thing.'

"Whatever it is, I don't want to find out…" he murmured to himself, getting out of bed. After one last glance around the room, checking that Corvin seemed to be watching his movements closely, Gino quietly slipped out.

Dodging the guards along the way, he moved silently across the worn grey floors of the hallways, the walls faded and cracked. His eyes scanned each shadow, every movement, with caution.

Every meter he covered, every closed door he passed, brought him closer to the women's wing.

'What the hell…?' Soon, something caught his attention—a dim, flickering light behind a navy-blue door, its paint chipped and peeling. He saw shadows moving inside, and a powerful sense of revulsion washed over him. Faint, almost inaudible murmurs reached his hypersensitive ears.

The words, which seemed nonsensical at first, somehow felt laden with meaning. As the sound of those voices filled Gino, a deep disgust overtook him, as if his body, soul, and mind were suddenly submerged in an invisible substanceof rotting blood. His nose filled with the stench of decaying flesh, and his mouth felt as though it would force him to vomit—a slick, gelatinous taste like nothing he'd ever had the misfortune of experiencing until now.

Gino's face twisted from one of disgusted surprise into something cold and serious as he felt his mind push back against the overwhelming sensation that had threatened to swallow him whole. Clarity soon returned, along with the same stagnant air he was used to breathing in Vandalor.

As he crept closer to the door, his steps careful and deliberate, the shadows inside moved more distinctly, while the murmurs seemed to grow louder. Extending his bionic implant to peer inside, Gino's eyes widened with both shock and horror at the scene unfolding before him.

In the dim, flickering light of the room—a cramped 2x3 space—four individuals knelt before a grotesque, poorly constructed metal totem. Candles surrounded the idol, casting unsettling shadows on the floor, which was marked by a drawing that made Gino feel faint just looking at it. The murmurs grew stronger for a brief moment, threatening to overwhelm him again, but he regained control when the pained groans and angry growls from the four figures reached his ears.

The moment he appeared in the doorway, the four turned almost simultaneously, their panicked eyes widening as they scrambled to the back of the room, as though the very air around him had set them ablaze.

"Grraaaaagh!"

"Tssrgrgsrgtsrgt!"

'Chaos cultists…' Gino's breath quickened as he processed what he was seeing. The three men's faces were marred with oozing, yellow-tinged wounds. Their eyes glowed an unnatural shade of green, while the dim candlelight revealed their sickly physiques, along with the grotesque tattoos covering their faces and necks. The rest of their bodies were obscured by tattered black robes.

Their appearances, like everything in that room, filled Gino with an overwhelming sense of revulsion. Every instinct in his body screamed to charge at them, to beat them until their disgusting, blasphemous faces were unrecognizable, to crush their glowing eyes beneath his boots, and to obliterate that repulsive idol they worshipped.

Unbeknownst to Gino, his emotions began to manifest as a subtle but palpable aura, radiating from his body and filling the room. The shadows seemed to shrink away from him, as if they were frightened, cornered animals. The cultists trembled, backing against the wall in a vain attempt to escape his presence, hissing and growling like helpless, feral creatures.

The candles flickered before extinguishing with a supernatural hiss. Gino's hesitation melted away when a sudden ding rang in his mind, followed by a mechanized voice.

DING!

-------<• >-------

[• A mission has been issued! Purge the Chaos cultists and destroy their altar!]

[Reward: <10 > experience points.]

---

Almost immediately after hearing the mission prompt, Gino's mind locked onto it like a green light, giving him permission to unleash all his pent-up rage. In an instant, a lasgun appeared in his hands, its sights fixed on the trembling cultists at the far end of the room.

Gino, who had never fired a rifle in his life and had only used handguns before, unleashed a series of red bursts that illuminated the room, each crack echoing like breaking branches.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The cultists, cornered and bewildered, could do nothing as they watched the red flashes until their bodies were torn apart by Gino's wild shots, fired without precision.

DING!

It was only when Gino snapped back to reality that he finally halted his barrage. Amidst the bright flashes that lit up the darkness of the room, he saw the remnants of the cultists, their mangled forms filling the air with the sickening scent of burnt flesh, making him feel nauseous.

"I– I j-just... W-what have I done…?" he murmured in horror, watching as the lasgun vanished from his hands. His legs felt weak, trembling from the adrenaline flooding his body, and his mind screamed for him to escape the nightmare he had just unleashed.

Desperate to avoid running in a panic, he made his way toward Beatrix's room, narrowly evading detection by the night guards, instinctively seeking refuge in her warmth.

"Hey, Gino, what's wrong?" Beatrix whispered immediately as she sensed his presence beside her. Although she had anticipated his arrival as they had agreed, he seemed shaken, his body tense and breathing erratic.

Soon, however, she would learn what had happened, for that night marked the first time Gino killed someone.

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